A/N:
I'm marking the story complete ^^ Thanks for everyone all this time :)
Also sorry if I had redirected to this story.

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As Junhong lets out another ball of smoke past his lips, Ryuunske coughs. Junhong sighs and smacks the new cigarette on the table next to the bed, and rolls off the bedsheet from himself. Fishing out the lighter from the pockets of his pants on the floor; he steps out to the balcony.

‘Isn’t it October?’ The cold nights asks straight away as he opens the door, and his skin hair rises. He crosses his hands on the bar and follows the city lights with his eyes until he meets with a cloudy horizon. He looks over his shoulder back inside the room, and gives his dry lips a .

‘Ryuunske? The kind of is that?’ he wonders. He’s obviously Korean – why would he bother with a Japanese aliases? Junhong never quite got his share of questions answered; and at this point, he might have to admit he’s used to it. ‘Can’t even stand a smoke. What a wuss.’ Junhong huffs, rolling his eyes – fixing them back on the horizon. He puts the cigarette back on his lips and lights it up.

Well, he could have come out from the beginning. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know Ryuunske couldn’t stand cigar. He starts to frown, and takes up his thumbs to his forehead, tugging the skin.
‘What was his name again?
Bang Yongguk; wasn’t it?’

Junhong blindly runs his hand over the bar, and unties the binoculars from the strap it was tied to – and lifts it to his eyes. Lights turned off, Junhong didn’t see much across. He put it down, gave his lungs a release and breathed in.
But Junhong knew he’s going to die; and he had no idea.

Yongguk; was different.

Junhong blinked his eyes and chucked the cigarette on the bar; watching the sparks fly.

He always carried a brown leather bag; that only added up to the rest of his brown, boring clothing. His shoes had rubber flats and never made sound against the wood of the stairs of his work place. There’s a lunchbox wrapped in a white serviette with a sprinkle of tiny blue flowers, and a bottle of hot water in a heat resistant cover; which is also brown. At work; he speaks very less, hunched over his computer. At home, he helps his wife with laundry and cooking – and spends most of his time playing with his six year old daughter with long, curly hair; just like her mothers. She’s a cute thing; with a bright smile and bouncy hair, dressed in frilly dresses – every time she runs to Junhong while she’s out in the park with her mother. She calls him ‘Ajussi.’ Every time Junhong looks down to her, he draws a picture of standing flowers beside a brown color coffin. He doesn’t really smile to her. All he did was kick the ball that came at his feet back to her. She didn’t really have to run back to him and thank him.

Junhong looked over his shoulder again when the door to the balcony was slid open. Ryuunske stepped out with the shirt over his torso hanging on from one button across; added to his briefs.
“You’ll catch a cold.” He said; his voice hoarse. Junhong didn’t bother to reply. “You’re .”

“You talk too much.” Junhong cut through; and made a tie with the strap of the binoculars on the bar again, and stepped back inside. Ryuunske followed, sliding the glass door close. He watched Junhong as he slid his wrist watch on, clipped it and put on his shirt.

The time was 0300.

“It’s your birthday.” Ryuunske said, his voice bland.

“Yeah, I know.” Junhong replied – pulling up his pants, doing his zipper up.

“I’m buying a cake.”

“I’m not coming back tonight.” Junhong unplugged his phone, and slipped it inside his pocket. He remembered he left his lighter out in the balcony; and stepped past Ryuunske who was standing across the door; and closed it back once he was inside.

Ryuunske grabbed his shoulder and Junhongs’ frown came back. ‘The is your problem?’

“I’m still buying cake.”

Junhong brushed off the hand. “No one’s stopping you.” He said, straining his voice not to be too loud. He met eyes with Ryuunske for that one moment, and got his thumbs back on his brows. It’s hard to fix the furrow once he started to frown. He picked up his jacket from the couch as he walked out, and closed the door to the apartment as silently as possible.

The elevator was right next to their apartment; and Junhong fixed his eyes beyond the glass on the building in which Yongguk lived. Vaguely he could point at the room; and his heart felt heavy. Every time he will take a life; he thought about how it’s been alive all this time.
It’s easy for it to all end; and not to exist tomorrow.

Yongguk was more than he looked. His hands were dirty and they were stained with blood of hundreds of people. Beyond his hunched shoulders over the computer; he’s a part of a chain that’s set in an unstoppable momentum. Now it was time to run backwards; for Karma to come back around; pass judgement. It was time to end everything. It was time to put an end to his suffering life, and not live another sunrise. It’s only been five months since they set the gas attack underground; and Junhong was somewhat staggered by the amount of information that had surfaced; and untangled the ties. However; the government had other plans.
What they were; Junhong doesn’t know. But he knows one thing. If he knew what their reasons were; he won’t be alive; set aside freedom from prison.

Junhong steps out of the elevator; and walks quietly avoiding the reception and exists the building through the entrance of the car park. As soon as he steps out; his phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it out.

A set of clear directions were given on a bus route; and then train numbers – including a precise time for each route. It says to get his earphones on; and he does.

“Hello Youngjae.” He sing-songs to the microphone hanging on his earphones – and the other side heaves a long sigh. “Good morning, Junhong.” It’s the usual monotone voice; but Junhong doesn’t mind. Youngjae had already made a mistake of letting out his name; and countless times he had told Junhong not to call him that – but at one point he gave up.

“I’m going to be here throughout; hope you got enough battery.”

“I do. So todays’ the day; huh.” Junhong replies, his voice low. He walks without a hurry to the bus stop; eyes on his feet, hands inside his jacket.

Youngjae doesn’t say anything.

“He looks like a nice guy, you know? His kids’ a sweet thing. Not to mention his wife too.”

Junhong had only killed six men so far, and one woman. Yongguk is the last; he was told months ago. Nevertheless; every time he walked to get his stuff; Youngjae and he had made a habit to talk about the ones to die. In a humane sense; although Junhong would have trouble if he should explain why he bothered to do this – the vague outline was out of respect. A shape of expression of acknowledgement for existing.

“He’s done a lot of social work, too.” Youngjae added.
“Had he?” Junhong asked.

His job wasn’t to figure out the personality of people.
All he wanted was to observe; build a routine in his head – plan out where to take him, how to take him; and just finish it off. He had a tight deadline too. Funny how it fell on his birthday.

“He was a shorty finalist one year.” Youngjae said.
Junhong nodded. “You do your paperwork really well.”

Junhong heard Youngjae scoff in the other side. “It’s computer work these days.”

Junhong didn’t mind. He hummed. “We’re all not smart.” He concluded. “But you can’t push a gun down a throat and shoot.” He got himself seated on the bench by the bus-stop; eyes leaving his shoes to the empty, dark pavement.
“Not something I would want to brag about.” Youngjae clarified.

Junhong kept himself silent as he fixed his eyes on the bus at the far corner. Silence continued as he waited for it to come; to open its door and welcome him in. There were three passengers at the back, all carrying heavy ‘Nike’ bags, dressed in shorts and sports shoes. Junhong chose a window seat to the middle.

“Who are they?” Junhong asked.
“Passengers.” Youngjae nonchalantly answered.
“I don’t know if it means that you people trust me not to kill random people; or if you’re watching me.”

“We are watching you; and we don’t trust you. But they are just passengers.”

Junhong kept himself quiet, and got down when the computer lady said this is the place. He crossed the fairly empty road and took his steps downwards to the train station – and the train arrived twenty seconds later. He got in; and they travelled for fifteen minutes. The bus ride was about thirty. Youngjae said to get off one stop earlier than the text.

Junhong rolled his eyes as he stepped out into an empty station. It was fifteen to four. Whoever these men were; they went too far to confirm security. The lockers were walked to as Youngjae directed.

“Everything’s in a paper bag, locker 206.”

Junhong spent little time to browse; and was soon standing ahead of the green locker. It was an ugly shade of green. Junhong expected it to be open; but was closed.
“It’s locked.”

“In your left jacket pocket.” Youngjae said.

Junhongs face was now one scowl entirely. ‘How dare you?’ Junhong didn’t like to be a string to be pulled this way and that. He was standing here because he has the choice to; and he ing hates it when they dare do like this. He was no toy to be played.

He kept his teeth clenched as he felt the metal meet his fingertips. He needs to run; he needs a place to hide – but right now; he has nothing. His freedom is not guaranteed. He already knows too much. The possibility of his death having approached him quietly all this time wasn’t appealing. Soon after Yongguk dies; it feels like it’s his own turn. Either he runs; or eats his gun.

Junhong let out a scoff at the Mc Donald’s paper bag and cup of hot chocolate. Inside was a 9mm caliber gun, bullets in a neat tiny clear bag, a brown bottle of the size his thumb, a syringe, and a key.

A Mc. Donald’s bag.

Junhong let himself laugh over that; taking it out.

“There’s no poison in the hot chocolate, you know.” Youngjae said as Junhong closed the door to the locker. Junhong yawned. He locked it back and tossed the key onto the tracks of the train when he got back.
“There better not be.” Junhong said; and returned. He got into another train taking him further from the town. When he got out; it was six thirty. Carrying around a paper bag of Mc Donald’s; he spent his day here and there; loitering three cities far away; drinking coffee and playing games on his phone. When it was three; Youngjae said there’s a car.

The traffic worsened with time; and they spent five hours on the road – taking the busiest routes. Junhong was replaced with another on the fifth hour; and he was on foot until the next bus stop. Bus ride took another three hours; and it was nine when he was standing by the entrance to the car park of Yongguks work place. He took out the key from the Mc Donald’s bag; and found Yongguks car parked in the usual spot.

He had about ten minutes to prepare. He got into the backseat; and opened the paper bag. He loaded the gun, slid aside the safety; and pushed it inside his pocket. He loaded the syringe with the contents of the bottle, and kept it ready. Just then; the elevators to his far left opened; and Yongguk stepped out.

“We can’t have you walk in when he hadn’t walked out. The security cameras will fall into a loop when he leaves as the last person out – it’s best when you can’t find quirks, isn’t it? All the lighting turns off in the building automatically after 12PM and that’s when we take off the loop. The sun comes back up and they’re going to fast forward the light on his dead body.”
“Get him seated on his usual seat; and shoot from his back.”
“There should be a nice splatter of blood on display.”

It wasn’t Youngjae when he was being explained how to kill, or how to leave the body dead in display. It was a rather plain, boring voice without a trace of emotion; not even amusement.

Yongguk unlocked the car from a distance; and got in.

There was only one crucial thing when it came to driving a bullet through a brain; and that was to never hesitate.
Junhong had planned out where to hit anyway – so a moment afore Yongguk pressed the button to start up the engine; a needle dived through his neck, and a low gurgle past his lips before he fell forward onto the steering wheel.

Junhong sighed out. He retrieved the needle and put it back in the Mc Donald’s bag.

Yongguk isn’t dead yet.
Life is a funny thing; you see – when it leaves; you don’t function anymore – not even the things you used to do without thinking about; like beating your heart.
If blood flow stops there won’t be a show.

Junhong was pleasantly surprised by how thin the man was, as he put him over his shoulder like a bag of trash. After one is dead; they are a pile of trash; aren’t they? All you leave behind is what you’ve done.

Junhong got the man seated facing his computer; which was already running a classy virus. Why did they expose their identities?
Lately these murders had gained a crazed load of attention from media; which of course - is assuming a cult behind their deaths; exposing terrorism. This cult had their supporters and opposers; but neither knew the truth.
It’s their government.
The people you vote for.

Junhong shot thrice.

“Just dump that bag anywhere.” Youngjae said.

But they’re not just the government.
Junhong knew as much.
 

A group of people with skills, and twisted brains. A group of people who fawned and laughed at the rest of the men at the same time. A group of people whose hobby was to wrap guns in Mc Donald’s and dump them in ordinary trash; to have everyone look it over as harmless – at its extreme.
Undoubtedly they treated trust like a joke.

He dumped his Mc Donald’s bag on a trash can that was tied to a light pole on his way back to his apartment. Like if he’s going to drink they give.

When he opened the door; a single light was by the kitchenette; and Ryuunske was seated facing a white frosted cake with fruit on top; and Junhong felt his stomach curling. He hadn’t eaten anything the entire day.

He closed the door, and Ryuunske bit his lip – eyes meeting with Junhong.

“Hungry?” He asked; and Junhong let his lips curl up somewhat. He nodded, dragged another chair – and got himself seated facing Ryuunske.

He passed Junhong a spoon, and they dug in.

It was a good cake.

Ryuunske had half the appetite Junhong did. He watched Junhong eat least of half the entire cake.

“You’re not safe anymore.” He said, and Junhong ignored, feeding himself spoonful after another. Ryuunske waited.

The was his problem? Junhong thought; looking up. Why are you waiting for everything? ing annoying.
“So?” He asked, giving into the silence.

“Do you have any plans?” Ryuunske asked, and Junhong laughed, the reverberation in it hollow and vague.

“Ryuunske – you’re one of them, you know? Even if I had any plans, like I’d tell you.” Junhong made his point clear, and fed himself one last spoonful. He stood up, took off his jacket and rolled his stiff shoulders. He opened the door to their washroom and walked in. He should leave the door open and he did. Ryuunske watched him strip but it didn’t bother anymore.

He could crush aside the gaze on his body like a nonchalant thought he didn’t want in his mind. It’s better this way. Ryuunske had prepared the tub for him; and he got in.

Junhong was tired and sleepy; and they overpowered his instinct begging him to figure out something to get out of this mess. He had his head resting on the seat; and didn’t bother opening his eyes when Ryuunske poured shampoo on his hair.

It was soothing; and there was no need to hide it.

Junhong waited as Ryuunske walked around the tub soaping him, washing his hands; chest, stomach, legs.
“Are you going to turn over?” He asked, and Junhong shook his head no. When he opened his eyes, Ryuunske hadn’t a line on his face. Why was he so expressionless?

“Ryuunske, why are you here?” Junhong asked. He looked skeptical as he met eyes with Junhong.

“I was asked to watch you.”

“Watch me?” Junhong repeated, and Ryuunske stood up, walked over and opened the tap of the sink, and washed his hands. He nodded.

“Which includes ing with me and washing me and cooking for me?” he extended his question, and Ryuunske looked up; eyes meeting with his own reflection in the mirror.

Junhong only saw a red hue on his ear tips.

“No.” He answered. “Why are you asking this now?” He asked back, fairly confused. Junhong had never questioned why he does what he do.

“I wanna smoke.”

Unanswered; Ryuunske sighed and walked out, fetching Junhong his packet of cigarette and his lighter. He left a new one on Junhongs lips and it up.

Now he can’t stay in anymore. He stood up to leave; but Junhong reached out of his water – and grabbed at his wrist.
“Someone put a key in my jacket. Was it you?”

Ryuunske pushed Junhongs grip off from his other hand. “Yes.” He answered.

“You know I hate that kind of .”

“But you live with that kind of . You don’t even have a way out.” Ryuunske laughed; which later turned into a mild cough. He closed the door when he stepped out.

When Junhong stepped out, Ryuunske had packed a suitcase. He was seated with the bag on the table on the living room, legs crossed on the couch. He waved a ticket.

Junhong snatched it, and read the destination as India, flight due in four hours from now. Ryuunske put over the ticket a passport. Kim Jonghyun? 
Fake passport.

“You can take it or leave it.” He said.

Junhong started to frown again. “Take it at what price?”

Ryuunske dropped another passport over Junhongs.

Kim Himchan.

“Huh?” Junhong raised a brow.

“At the price of me.”
“You must know enough to understand that you can’t poof while I’m on watch, don’t you?”
“If you’re going to leave now, you can’t leave me.”
“We’re in this together.” Ryuunske said.

“Leave it at what price?” Junhong asked.

Ryuunske fell into a smile. He was nonchalant and it made Junhongs’ heart feel heavy.
“At the price of me.”

“Why are you doing this?” Junhong asked, and Ryuunske crossed his hands.
“…Because I like ing with you, washing you and cooking you .”

“They’re easy things to get tired of.”

Ryuunske shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So, Kim Himchan – huh.”

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Sorry about dark fic; not sorry about dark fic.

Bye guys!!